


Rhythm and Lines

by JARVIP (kacikaci)



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Aww, Cute, Fluff, Gen, Happy, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Requited Love, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers-centric, Sweet, Tony Being Tony, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony-centric, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 21:37:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3091163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kacikaci/pseuds/JARVIP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is tinkering in the workshop. Steve is watching. It's really no different than any other day for them, yet this one will turn out to be special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rhythm and Lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oudemia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oudemia/gifts).



> Thank you Oudemia for encouraging me to write this and for being my first reader! And for just being awesome ;)
> 
> (Click the name [I posted it as a gift fic] for some of the absolute best avengers fic out there!!!)

Tony is tinkering in the workshop. His arms are gesturing wildly, his feet carrying him swiftly all around the room, his eyes flitting from one focus to the next. His mouth is moving ceaselessly, keeping up a constant stream of chatter, while his voice rises and falls and his expression subtly flows from one emotion to the next. Occasionally his hips will sway and his steps will bounce; All this to the rhythm only he can feel.

Sometimes Steve thinks he can feel it - a fleeting moment of dawning understanding or a sense of déjà vu. Sometimes it's like a sight that’s there one blink and gone the next, words clinging to the very tip of his tongue, or the answer he just knows is waiting beyond the next bend. But never can Steve grasp it in his hand; Never can he truly understand it. Tony's rhythm is his own, and though Steve will never share in it, it is ever a wonder to watch.

And watch Steve does, lounging on the couch with his sketch pad in hand, an array of charcoals spread within easy reach on the floor below. The most recently used pencil is left abandoned in his lap. He remembers not when it fell, when he stopped drawing Tony to simply stare. He isn't even truly aware that he has stopped drawing, so caught up is he in the beautiful dance that is Tony Stark. 

He loves this man, loves his everything, but he loves him most here, at home, surrounded by his creations; the focal point and catalyst at the center of the storm. And watching it all from the privileged vantage point that is the Steve-shaped indent in a grease and charcoal covered couch, Steve knows with every fiber of his being that there is no place he would rather be - today, tomorrow, in a year or ten. This certainty brings with it a weight of contentment that settles low in his stomach and warms him from the inside out. 

Slowly, Steve lowers his eyes back to the page below him. Flipping to a clean one, he begins a new sketch: a line here, a corner there, a circle, a loop, a curve. His pencil sweeps across the page for a moment, two, three, and then is set down again, this time joining its brethren on the workshop floor.

With great care, Steve tears the page out of the book and sets to folding back each blank edge until he is left with only the picture, neatly cropped into a palm-sized square. Placing the pad on the cushion beside him, he stands, beginning both the shortest journey of his life, and one that will last his life long.

Tony is still dancing to his rhythm, of course, as Steve draws near, arms wildly attacking the air and voice loudly arguing likewise. He is quarreling with JARVIS, as always, the content of the conversation flying high over Steve's head. Tony must be losing, however, for he turns round to face the couch where his lover last sat, "Steve, tell him I'm right, you can't just-"

His voice cuts off abruptly. His eyes dart from their original destination down to the man now kneeling in front of him, holding up a small piece of paper "... Steve?"

With a lopsided smile and a voice barely louder than a breath, Steve asks "Marry me?"

Time stills for just a moment, everything quiet, before Tony lets out a jagged yes and falls into Steve's arms. They're smiling, crying, laughing, and holding each other tight. As they fold into one small, sobbing ball of contentment, the paper flutters to the floor, temporarily forgotten. 

Later the paper will be picked up; It will be framed, photocopied and sent on invitations, shown to friends, shared with children. Later, it will be remembered. But for now, it lies forgotten on the floor, just a simple sketch of a box and a ring, edges folded back into a neat square.

**Author's Note:**

> That was my first fic, so thanks a million for reading! I would love to hear from you guys :)


End file.
